The morning sun cast long shadows across the sandy beach as Gustave and his unlikely crew began their daily training regimen. There was truth in the old saying that a day's plan begins at dawn, and morning exercise had become their sacred ritual.
"One, two, one! One, two, one!" The five chanted in unison as they pounded along the coastline, their feet leaving deep impressions in the wet sand.
As always, they maintained their grueling pace—sixty kilometers within a single hour. Gustave and Po bore massive boulders on their shoulders, the weight causing their feet to sink deeper with each stride. Meanwhile, Tom, Ace, and Luffy ran with lighter equipment, though their determination burned just as fiercely.
Since completing construction of the Bamboo Staff Bistro, Gustave had relocated their training from the dense forest to this coastal stretch. The beach offered two distinct advantages: proximity to their floating restaurant and the added resistance of sand, which intensified every movement and maximized their workout's effectiveness.
After covering six or seven kilometers, the group spotted a familiar sight in a nearby bay—the distinctive red sails of the Red Force, flagship of the Red Hair Pirates.
"Hey! Gustave!" Shanks called out from the bow, his voice carrying easily across the water. "Getting in your morning exercise, I see?"
Yesterday's shared meal had clearly warmed their relationship, as Shanks had dropped the formal "Boss Gustave" in favor of simple familiarity.
Gustave paused his run and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Early exercise keeps the body and mind sharp! You're welcome to join us if you'd like!"
"Ha! I appreciate the offer, but I have my own training methods," Shanks replied with a grin. His expression grew more concerned as his eyes found Po. "How are you feeling today, big guy? You gave us quite a scare yesterday when you collapsed."
Po hoisted the massive boulder on his shoulder a bit higher and beamed. "I'm perfectly fine! See? Healthy as can be!" His cheerful declaration echoed across the beach.
The loud exchange stirred Uta from her slumber aboard the Red Force. The young girl rubbed her eyes sleepily and padded to the bow beside her adoptive father. When her gaze fell upon Po—rotund and distinctive in his black-and-white fur with simple linen shorts—her eyes lit up with pure delight.
"A kitty! What an adorable big kitty!" she squealed, instantly alert.
Before Shanks could react, Uta had leaped from the ship's rail and was sprinting across the sand toward Po.
"Uta, wait!" Shanks shouted, alarm creeping into his voice as his daughter ran toward the group without hesitation.
Seeing the enthusiastic child barreling toward him, Po had no choice but to drop his boulder, the massive stone hitting the beach with a thunderous impact that made everyone stagger.
"Lovely big kitty!" Uta launched herself through the air, arms outstretched.
Po caught her instinctively, his reflexes serving him well in this unexpected situation.
"Hey now, Uta," Luffy piped up, stretching his neck slightly for emphasis. "Po's not a cat—he's a panda! And he's our friend!"
Uta pulled back to study Po's face with wide, curious eyes. Po smiled gently and patted her head with one massive paw. "Luffy's right, little one. I'm a panda, but you can call me Po just like everyone else does."
Shanks dropped from the Red Force's bow onto the beach, approaching the group with a mixture of relief and mild jealousy. "Uta, it's rather impolite to embrace someone so enthusiastically when you've only just met them."
"Don't wanna let go!" Uta tightened her grip around Po's substantial middle and buried her face in his soft fur.
Po chuckled warmly—this wasn't his first encounter with affectionate children. Over the past two years, every kid who met him had the same reaction. Being a panda certainly had its social advantages.
Meanwhile, something had been nagging at Tom since yesterday's encounter. When he'd seen Shanks wielding his sword during their previous meeting, the cat had felt an overwhelming urge to test his own blade against the legendary pirate's. Unfortunately, Gustave had dragged him away before he could issue his challenge, and the excitement of the evening had made him forget entirely.
Now, presented with a second opportunity, Tom wasn't about to let it slip away.
In a blur of motion that defied physics, Tom spun like a miniature tornado and emerged wearing his formal dueling attire—a pristine white shirt, black vest, and his finest fencing stance.
"Aha!" Tom declared, striking a classic swordsman's pose with one hand behind his back and his blade extended toward Shanks in an unmistakable challenge.
Shanks raised an eyebrow, studying the determined cat. "A sparring match, Tom? Is that what you're after?"
Tom nodded vigorously, his whiskers twitching with anticipation.
"Well then," Shanks said, his expression growing serious as he recognized the honor being offered, "if you're extending the invitation, I accept with pleasure."
The group quickly backed away to provide adequate space for the duel. Even Uta turned in Po's arms to watch, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
From aboard the Red Force, the crew gathered at the rail and began their traditional pre-battle commentary.
"Don't you dare lose to a cat, Captain!" Yasopp called out.
"If you get beaten, you're doing all the dishes for a month!" Lucky Roux added with a hearty laugh.
With his audience assembled, Shanks drew Gryphon from its sheath. The legendary blade gleamed in the morning sunlight, its edge singing softly through the air. However, since Shanks couldn't sense any conventional power emanating from Tom, he decided to rely purely on swordsmanship without tapping into his other abilities.
Both combatants launched themselves forward simultaneously, their blades meeting in a shower of sparks. To Shanks' surprise, Tom's seemingly ordinary sword held firm against Gryphon's edge without so much as a chip or crack.
Interesting, Shanks mused. Gryphon was a Supreme Grade blade—most weapons would shatter on contact with its superior steel. Yet this unremarkable-looking sword had caught his attack perfectly.
Intrigued by this unexpected development, Shanks decided to show proper respect by fighting with genuine effort. He pulled back and thrust forward at a wickedly precise angle, targeting a spot most swordsmen would struggle to defend.
Tom's response defied all conventional sword logic. His body twisted in an impossible corkscrew motion, not only blocking the attack but positioning himself for an immediate counter.
Shanks pressed his advantage, striking at blind spots and utilizing techniques that had served him well for decades. Yet somehow, Tom parried every assault with movements that seemed to mock the very concept of proper form.
Growing frustrated with pure defense, Tom suddenly shouted "Aha!" and launched his own offensive.
If Tom's defensive style had been unconventional, his attacks were absolutely chaotic. Every strike came from an impossible angle, following no school or tradition Shanks had ever encountered. It was as if Tom was making up entirely new forms of swordplay with each swing.
Shanks found himself forced to abandon decades of refined technique and rely purely on instinct and reflexes. To any observer unfamiliar with both fighters, it would have looked more like a frantic street brawl than a formal duel between skilled swordsmen.
The Red Hair Pirates watched in bewilderment from their ship.
"What's wrong with the Captain today?" Benn Beckman muttered, his cigarette nearly falling from his lips. "He's fighting like he's never held a sword before."
In contrast, Gustave and his friends observed the chaos with knowing calm. They'd grown accustomed to Tom's utterly unpredictable fighting style. When facing the cat, predicting his next move was not just difficult—it was functionally impossible.
Shanks was experiencing that impossibility firsthand. In desperation, he subtly activated his Observation Haki, attempting to peer into the immediate future and anticipate Tom's next action.
The technique failed spectacularly. Every vision his Haki showed him proved completely wrong, as if Tom existed outside the normal flow of cause and effect. It was deeply unsettling—like trying to fight someone who existed in a different reality entirely.
Finally reaching his limit, Shanks decided to escalate beyond pure swordsmanship. He leaped backward, putting distance between himself and his maddening opponent.
"Let's see how you handle this!" Shanks swung Gryphon in a wide arc, launching a compressed air slash that screamed toward Tom with devastating force.
Tom's confident demeanor evaporated instantly. His eyes bulged comically as he stared at the approaching projectile, clearly having no idea how to respond to such an attack.
Shanks felt a moment of confusion. Based on Tom's demonstrated sword skills, he should easily be able to deflect or counter such a technique. Why did he look so terrified?
Faced with the incoming slash and apparently out of options, Tom made a choice that defied all logic. He dove toward the ground and began digging frantically, his claws moving so fast they became a blur.
In seconds, Tom had excavated a perfect grave-sized hole. He then produced a cigarette from seemingly nowhere, lit it with a dramatic flourish, and lay down in his self-made pit. With one hand behind his head and the other holding his cigarette, he tilted his face skyward at precisely forty-five degrees and took a long, contemplative drag.
The flying slash passed directly through Tom's midsection, appearing to cleave him cleanly in half. Both halves of the cat tumbled into the hole, and the displaced earth automatically filled in over him, creating a perfect burial mound complete with his sword standing upright as a makeshift headstone.
Shanks stood frozen in horror. He'd had absolutely no intention of killing Tom—this was supposed to be a friendly sparring match!
"Tom!" Shanks sprinted toward the grave, his mind racing with panic and guilt.
Gustave remained perfectly calm, as did Po, Ace, and Luffy. Their complete lack of concern should have been Shanks' first clue that something was amiss.
"Relax, Shanks," Gustave said gently, placing a hand on the pirate's shoulder. He walked to the grave, reached down, and gave a gentle tug.
Tom emerged from the earth completely intact, brushing dirt from his fur with theatrical dignity.
Shanks stared in disbelief. "Tom... did you eat a Devil Fruit? The Chop-Chop Fruit, perhaps? But that's impossible—I watched Buggy eat that fruit years ago, and unless he's dead..."
"Tom has never consumed a Devil Fruit," Gustave replied with an amused smile. "What you just witnessed is simply Tom being Tom. If you don't believe me, watch this—Tom, care to demonstrate?"
Before anyone could blink, Tom had changed into a vintage striped swimming costume and dove into the ocean with perfect form. He swam several laps with powerful strokes, clearly unaffected by the sea's supposedly Devil Fruit-nullifying properties.
Shanks watched in amazement as Tom performed an elegant backstroke, occasionally waving cheerfully at the stunned pirate.
"Incredible," Shanks breathed. "In all my years sailing these seas, I've never encountered anyone quite like Tom. He seems to operate by entirely different rules than the rest of us."
Gustave nodded knowingly. "That's our Tom—a cat who makes his own reality. Keeps life interesting, I'll give him that."
As Tom climbed back onto the beach and somehow instantly dried himself off, Shanks couldn't help but laugh.